When Sovngarde Beckons
by MadameHyde
Summary: The Companions have taught Tiberia Morwyn how Nords fight and die, and now the Dragonborn has the World-Eater on the run. She knows that taking the fight to Sovngarde is probably suicide, but what can she do? An Elf surely doesn't need to tell a Nord what happens when Sovngarde beckons. (Prequel to Honor Among Thieves: The Unwilling Nightingale)
1. The World-Eater

**Hello everyone! :) **

**My life's been exploding recently, and so what do I do to cope? I write and play Skyrim, of course! :D Sometimes I even do both at once :3**

**And I got such a positive response from my other pre-HAT story, this one just begged to be written. I hope you all aren't regretting that now ;)**

**There are some spoilers for Honor Among Thieves: The Unwilling Nightingale here, but not too terribly many, I don't think. And they're not too terribly large, either. **

**In any event, I hope you all enjoy. And don't ask me how long this'll be—probably a three- or fourshot, if that exists.**

**Onward.**

**-)**

"Welp, I guess that's it, then," I said with an air of finality. I glanced about the room—from Aela the Huntress, sitting stiff-backed on the stairs, to Farkas, leaning against one of the pillars in Jorrvaskr (the one with the glass warhammer on it), to Vilkas, whose tankard was in real danger of being crushed between his hands, and whose hair was falling in his eyes because he couldn't look at me—and I threw up a hand, slamming a tankard down with the other. My smooth, Elven cadence seemed distinctly out of place here in Jorrvaskr, the Mead Hall of the Companions. "Guess I'll go tell Odahviing that…"

"You're not going anywhere yet," Vilkas interrupted, catching me by the arm before I'd made it even three steps. Even without his werewolf reflexes, the boy moved like lightning.

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, and lucky for him, he hadn't been holding on very tightly. "And why not? I only have until dawn."

"If you go at all," Aela reminded distantly.

The darkness of Jorrvaskr is so familiar to me, now, and yet it seemed right then to be more like a crushing blackness than a familiar embrace. "I _have _to go," I reminded them all. "There is no one else."

"And why not one of us?" Farkas asked. He or his twin would go in my stead in a heartbeat, and we all knew it.

"Because you're not Dragonborn," I reminded him as gently as I could (I'm not too terribly good at that sort of thing). "Because you haven't taken the evil that is Dragonrend into yourself, and you don't have to. Because only the Dragonborn can defeat Alduin—it is her destiny. Because one being is not worth any more than another. Because the life of one woman—no matter whom she may be—is not more important than the life of the nation that took her in when she had nothing. Because Alduin needs to die, Farkas, and I'm the only one to do it."

"This is _suicide!" _Vilkas hissed, and I swear, I could see his heart breaking.

"This is how it has to be," I told him, unable to look my love in the eye.

"Dragons aren't Daedra," Aela reminded me, still staring into the dregs of her tankard. "There is no fate here, no 'must' and 'need to.'"

I snorted half-heartedly. "You have it backwards, Shield-Sister. With the _Dovah, _there is only fate, time, and duty. With the Daedra, there are agreements, bargains…"

"Morwyn," Farkas interrupted in a quiet voice, "please don't."

I wanted to tell him that my name was actually Tiberia, and that I needed to do this as much for myself as for Skyrim. My given name was like mud within my House, within my Great House, and maybe this would at least clear it a bit in my death. Enough to bury me in Necrom, surely? Or in my family's mausoleum? My sister Avalon, she would forgive me, at least a little, wouldn't she? She was always the level-headed one, the honest one. It's what made her a first-rate assassin.

But I told him none of those things. "And I suppose next you'll be appealing to the Harbinger?" A title I hadn't even wanted but took out of duty and a love for the Companions, and for Kodlak.

"If that's what it takes," Vilkas interjected fiercely. He was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it.

I threw up both of my hands. "What is it you want me to say, my friend? The cards are all out on the table! Paarthurnax told me the Dovahkiin has to kill Alduin—and that's me. The Greybeards told me about Dragonrend, which is an inherently evil Shout but it does its job and does it well. And I learned Dragonrend because who the hell else is going to? And I've fought Alduin once, and I won. He's weakened, he's wounded, and now I have the perfect opportunity to hit him while he's down! _Why _am I hesitating?"

"_Because you'll die!"_ Vilkas shouted, and in that moment, everything stopped.

It wasn't that he had no love for Skyrim; it was that he held such great love for me. He'd actually proposed the other night, if you can believe it. And it wasn't spite that forced me to refuse, or a lack of love, and it wasn't that I _didn't_ want to say yes. It was because I'd spoken with the Greybeards the week before, and learned about all this. Learned Dragonrend, learned I had to defeat Alduin, and learned that my oldest allies, the Blades, refused to help me unless I killed Paarthurnax—my only advisor. Knowing I had to travel to Sovngarde, knowing I had to face the World-Eater… I was going to die. I knew I was. And I refused to break his heart like that.

"I'm too stubborn for that nonsense," I said when my heart started beating again, but the room could tell I didn't mean it like I usually did.It was one thing to joke like that when facing bandits; it was another entirely when facing the World-Eater.

Vilkas snorted and no doubt had some bitter retort, but his twin said, before he could, "How is it that you do not fear death?"

I smiled wanly. "Because Dunmer know that death is not an ending, my friend, but a beginning."

"So that's it, then?" Vilkas barked. "You're going to go off on some suicidal mission because…!"

"Vilkas!" Aela interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Be at peace, Shield-Brother!"

Vilkas drew in a sharp breath, forcing his breathing to regulate. It was one of his old tactics for keeping the Beast Blood intact—one that he'd taught to me, and I still employed because I still had the wolf raging in my blood. I wasn't quite ready to give that up, but now, I wished I had. I didn't want to go to the Hunting Grounds when I died. Though really, I wasn't sure _where _I belonged. Aetherius was what made the most sense—that or Sheogorath's realm, the Shivering Isles—but that seemed like such a boring afterlife. Sovngarde, if it proved to be real and what the Nords held to be true, seemed much more appealing. Even to the Elf in me.

All grew quiet, but uneasily so. We sat around the fire in our usual spots then, with tankards of mead between our hands. Aela still sat on the stairs, her knees drawn up against her chest. Farkas was sitting with his back to a pillar near her, his elbow resting on one knee and his tankard in the other hand. I sat cross-legged on the table just above the fire, my tankard steadily warming between my hands. And Vilkas was in one of the chairs on my left, staring unblinkingly into the firepit.

"Is this how you really want to spend tonight?" Vilkas asked quietly, breaking the unsettling silence. "Truly?"

I spared him a glance as I thought about it. "No, actually, it isn't. Let's celebrate."

"Celebrate _what?" _Aela asked sharply. It was her defense mechanism for coping with loss. We knew that from all that had happened with Skjor.

"Anything," I said, setting my tankard down once again and hopping to my feet, "nothing. Life, love, liberty…" I jumped across the firepit, landing on my feet before the stairs. I was barefoot, now, in the clothes that went under my Daedric Armor. "…pick something."

Across the room, Vilkas was shaking his head. "You're mad, Morwyn."

I snorted. "You know you love it."

Farkas and Aela howled at that one, and Vilkas flushed crimson. "Where did _that _come from?" Farkas asked, still laughing.

I shrugged. "Oblivion if I know. Now come on. Let's round up the rest of the Companions."

-)

The rest of that night was spent in a drunken haze in the Bannered Mare. The Twins, Aela, and I, we were the Circle, the leaders of the Companions, which for all intents and purposes was a Warriors' Guild. After Kodlak Whitemane had died, I had been named Harbinger, which was something between a de facto and de jure leader. This was technically because I was in charge of no one. My Shield-Siblings merely respected my advice and tended to follow my supposed wisdom in most things.

And so Ria, Njada Stone-Arm, Athis, and Torvar were all perfectly happy to follow the Harbinger's orders that night. The whole lot of us drank and sang bawdy Nord drinking songs, and Athis and I combined could remember a few Dunmeri ones. We brawled for fun, and the rest of the tavern took bets on who would win. We celebrated the life that Talos grants his warriors, that Mehrunes Dagon grants his instruments. But it was all hollow.

Vilkas didn't let me out of his sight the entire evening—though more accurately, I suppose I should say his lap. Athis and Njada are always going at it, even more often than Vilkas and me are, but their stupid arguments tonight seemed forced, as though they couldn't quite bring themselves to care this night. Little Ria, the Imperial, looked about ready to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, and so the kind-hearted Farkas Jergenson looked after her for most of the evening. Torvar was trying to be his usual self, the drunken ass, but even he couldn't bring himself to be anything but sober that night, at least in demeanor. And Aela excused herself earlier than she normally would have, claiming exhaustion and a migraine. The full moons were calling to her, if I had to bet.

They all knew this was transient, that this would end. And the next morning, I would be gone. No matter how much they needed a Harbinger, and no matter how fond they had grown of the Little Elf they called Shield-Sister.

We stumbled back home, drunk as lords, and fell into our own beds. I had the Harbinger's Quarters by rights, and the rest of the Circle had their own rooms. The Whelps (and those who simply weren't Circle _or _Whelps) crashed in one large, barracks-style room at the end of the undercroft hall.

I tossed and turned in my bed for a while, unable to sleep. I polished both my armor and my dual swords twice in that interim, waiting to Vaermina to come over me, but she never did. A rising fear was swelling up from somewhere deep within me, a sort of terror. This was it. I was a dead woman walking. This would be my last sunrise, tomorrow.

Would anyone miss me, after I was gone? I mean, really _miss _me? Sure, the Companions would grieve over their lost Harbinger, but a new one (by which I mean Vilkas) would rise, take my place, and I would soon be a hearthside legend, told to make children behave and around bandit fires to keep warm. It was right and just for a Dragonborn to lay down her life in pursuit of justice, right? No one seemed to need me for anything except fetch quests, anyway.

Except Vilkas.

That wayward thought slammed into me with the force of a raging mammoth. _You should be with him, _the honest voice in the back of my head told me. _What are you doing? _This rising terror, this innate fear… another soul can always chase fear away. That's why Men and Mer are communal creatures, why we aren't meant to live alone.

As if I were controlled by some celestial puppetmaster, I stood and began the trek over to Vilkas' room. I knew he'd be awake. The man is a chronic insomniac, as much with the Beast Blood as without it. I padded silently through the halls, though I didn't really need to. I didn't need the werewolf's hearing to know that everyone else was dead asleep. A night of drinking will do that.

I knocked softly on his door. It opened a moment later, and a very confused Nord was standing in the doorframe then. This could look like so many things, I belatedly realized, but Vilkas knew me better than that… right? "Mind if I come in?" I asked, belated Elven manners catching up to me.

"No, of course not," Vilkas replied at once, gesturing for me to step inside.

I heard him shut the door behind me, and I glanced about. There was a candle burning on his desk, and his journal open to a blank page sitting just below it. "Are you all right, Morwyn?" he asked, his rough, Nordic cadence making me jump. How he and Farkas don't have the same accent, I'll never know.

"Yeah," I said, and I could feel myself dropping into the thousand-yard stare. "I just…" I stopped. "I can't be alone right now."

Vilkas nodded his understanding, and pulled me into a hug. The wolf in me loved his oh-so familiar scent, like pine and steel and vitality. "You don't have to go, you know," he said quietly, his voice little more than a rumble in his exhaustion and proximity to my ear. "You can stay with me as long as you like."

I snorted at that. "Vilkas…"

"I'm sorry. I had to try." He released me.

I let out a breath and collapsed to the floor, my back resting against the bare wall near the door. Vilkas claimed a spot beside me, not saying anything. The smoke from the candle across the way was making my eyes water, and the darkness in front of my face wavered. "You think it's true that legends never die?" I asked quietly after one long moment.

Vilkas paused to consider this. His silvery-grey eyes glinted in the darkness. "I think we still talk about Ysgramor, eh? And you always say, to speak the name of the dead is to make them live again."

I studied his face by the flickering light of the jar candle a moment. "So you _have_ been listening to me."

His face spit into a smile. It was such a rarity from the dour twin that it lit up his whole face. "Of course I have, _Lady _Morwyn."

I laughed at that, and though it was more breath than laugh, it was a start. "Good to know you're not _always _an ice-brain."

He snorted and slid an arm around my waist in a sideways hug. The fact that he left it there was something else entirely. "And as for your first question, the World-Eater hasn't died, either, and he's a legend."

"Come now, my friend. Call him by his proper name—_Alduin. _Fear of a name is useless, after all."

"I will call him by his name when he's safely in the ground. Names have no power..."

"Names have a _lot _of power, Nord," I interrupted. "More than you even know."

Vilkas paused, just now putting two and two together. "Morwyn isn't your given name," he asked quietly, "is it?"

I shook my head. "No, it isn't. It's my family name."

Vilkas cocked his head to better study me, the way wild wolves do when puzzled. "So what _is _your given name?"

"I can't…" I began, then I stopped. If I were going to be remembered at all, it should be the right way. I drew in a deep breath and said, "It's Tiberia. Tiberia Morwyn. I'm named after Talos. No, I don't know why."

"Tiberia…" Vilkas tested the name, studying me. Then he smiled. "You never seemed like a 'Morwyn' to me, anyway."

"Yeah, well…" I tried to be flippant, but it wasn't working.

"I think I know why you're here," Vilkas said at the hitch.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"You're scared."

"Bullshit!"

He laughed, _truly _laughed. He had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from waking up our Shield-Siblings. "There's the woman I love!" he said to me, tugging me closer to him so that he could kiss me. "I was beginning to wonder where she'd run off to," he added once we broke apart.

"Sovngarde," I said automatically, and the mirth drained from his features.

"Morwyn… no, _Tiberia_, I…" We locked eyes, the crimson and the silver, and something unspoken passed between us.

-)

Prying myself out of Vilkas' arms the next morning was the most difficult thing I think I've ever had to do. I was safe here, warm here, happy here—loved, here. I had a chance to be _happy, _really happy. And I was about to throw it all away for a nation of people who spat on me when I passed because my ears were pointed and my skin was blue. Not all Nords are like that—_clearly, _not all Nords are like that—but enough are that I stay away from cities like Windhelm and Riften.

I sat at his desk, and I wrote him a goodbye in his journal. He'd be sure to see it when he awoke, and I couldn't risk someone else reading it by mistake. Too much had happened between the dour twin and me to not say goodbye at all. I slipped out the door with one last glance thrown back to the man who'd taught me no, they weren't all the same. It was mostly just the elves that used you.

I dressed in my Daedric Armor, grateful that I didn't need help buckling it shut. I snapped my swordbelt across my hips, filled a pack with some healing potions and some necessary trip essentials, and slid my boots on, ready to face whatever came next.

And when I released Odahviing, when I settled behind his head as he took to the skies, when I saw that my Shield-Siblings had gathered on the steps leading from the Gildergreen Plaza to Jorrvaskr to see me off, the words I'd written bounced around my skull as though burned there:

_Vilkas—_

_ My words are so meaningless—what can I say? I love you, I'm sorry, I wish you all the best. Remember me, but please, don't sing praise. Forget me, but please, carry my memory with you. All that's good in me now, I learned from the Companions, and especially you, and I hope you know that. I'll tell Shor to keep an eye out for you, and maybe Sheogorath will let me skip over sometime, eh?_

_ I don't think I need to tell a Nord what happens when Sovngarde beckons._

_All my love,_

_Tiberia Morwyn_


	2. Skuldafn

**Hello all, glad you enjoyed the start of this :) Have another. :3**

**Onward.**

**-)**

The Dragon Priest arose from its horizontal position in a haze of magicka. He spread his arms wide, and the two dragons that had been resting on pillars on either side of this courtyard threw back their wings and howled to the skies. It was nearing twilight; I'd been fighting my way through Draugr-infested crypt after Draugr-infested crypt.

And I was _pissed._

_"Oh no you don't!"_ I shouted, and Thu'um boomed out with the syllables. "Oblivion take all of you!"

The Dragon Priest paused in what he was doing, as though shocked at the vulgarity. The Dragons seemed frozen at the Thu'um. I was a bloody powerful _dovah, _after all. A Shout from me is like a Shout from Odahviing, if not Alduin himself.

"It can take _you!" _I continued, pointing viciously to the Frost Dragon on my right. "And _you!" _To the Blood Dragon on the left. "_AND ESPECIALLY YOU!" _And instead of pointing, I flung my Glass dagger at the Dragon Priest's head.

I ran right after the dagger and bolted up the stairs, and the Dragon Priest was so preoccupied with avoiding the blade that I managed to tackle him full-on. He had been standing on a dais, and so the both of us went tumbling over the back end of the thing. I made sure _he_ was the one to slam painfully into the stone floor (at least, I think it was a him) when we landed. I had missed my target, but the Glass dagger had at least embedded itself in his arm. And so I yanked it out of its newfound home and plunged it into his throat.

Draugr don't bleed, so that was infinitely less satisfying than it should have been, but he at least gargled a bit and whatever Draconic insult he'd been forming died in his throat. I conjured a spell of sparks and held his head between the electricity coursing through them. The smell of singed flesh filled the air, and then, suddenly, the Dragon Priest collapsed into a pile of ash. I leapt to my feet, drawing my swords in the process and turned to face the Dragons still perched on those great, stone pillars.

"_WHO'S NEXT!?" _I shouted, and again, the Thu'um was laced in my speech.

Now, Dragons aren't beasts—they're intelligent creatures and powerful ones, too. But these two _dovahhe _looked at each other, looked at me, back to each other, and then back to me. And then both flew off to find easier prey.

I snorted. I really _was _going mad, if simple words and a dead dragon priest made two fully-grown _dovahhe _fly away to find an easier target. I was five-two and maybe one hundred-fifteen pounds soaking wet. By all accounts, I shouldn't have been a threat to them at all. But I wasn't complaining if it meant I didn't have to fight 'em. I'd done more than enough of that today.

I yanked the mask off the Dragon Priest and stole his staff, because somehow or another, I knew I'd need those. And I padded tiredly over to the stairs again, taking them one at a time because it was all I could get my tired body to do. I plunked down on the top step and faced the way I'd come, laying the staff across my knees to keep it safe. I drew in steadying breaths, trying to regulate my breathing before the Werewolf exploded and I lost my armor. I drank a healing potion in the interim.

I chucked the bottle away as I called up to the heavens, "Whoever the _hell _decided Draugr were a good idea, Lady Azura, do us all a favor and _dishonor them!" _My voice echoed in the empty courtyard, an elven cadence so out of place in this ancient house of Nords.

Odahviing had dropped me off this morning on the edge of the mountainside with a 'good luck, Dragonborn' and an 'I can go no further.' (Fat lot of good the Dov ever did me in a fight.) I was immediately beset by a fully-grown Frost dragon and a Draugr Overlords and a Draugr Scourge, who had also done me the upstanding honor of summoning a frost atronach.

Never mind that Dunmer are resistant to _fire, _not frost.

I'm fairly certain I would have died there if not for the Shout I automatically let loose and the Daedric armor that the Companions had given me upon my acceptance of the title Harbinger. And that goes for the rest of the temple, too.

I was attacked by Draugr after Draugr, all with epithets. I was learning to tell the beasts apart, since Vilkas had always found them so fascinating. (_Don't think about it, Tiberia, don't think about him.) _The higher-level ones can use magic, and some can even Shout. I shuddered whenever I heard the telltale Draconic—_Fus ro dah!—_not because I was scared their whispers would knock me off the mountain, but because of what it signified. Only those close to the _dov _can learn to shout—the Greybeards, the Dovahkiin, and the _Dov _themselves—and so all of these undead beings had to have sided with the dragons during the Dragon War, all those Eras ago.

And this was what the rest of the world did to them when Alduin lost.

Was this _my _fate? Would the Nords insist I be buried in one of their cairns, since I was Dovahkiin? Would they even respect me enough to burn my body and have the bones shipped back to Morrowind? Lydia would do it; I know she would. And even if they did, and even if my entire skeleton got to Ald'ruhn—would my family even accept it? I had disgraced the House of Morwyn by refusing to bow to my mother's wishes and marry a Thalmor like a good puppet.

But the Nords, now they saw that as bravery, not insurrection. I remember I mentioned my failed arranged marriage to the Twins once, and both had been visibly appalled at the mere thought. Farkas had clapped me on the back, told me he quite agreed with my decision to make a break for it. But what I didn't tell them—I _couldn't _tell them—was what had happened to my mother in the aftermath. I'd always been able to push those thoughts from my mind through combat, and Skuldafn provided _that _in droves. The courtyards were full of them, the crypts and caverns filled with draugr and traps and Nordic puzzles.

I'd never been sure what the point of Nordic tomb puzzles were, but that day, it hit me. They weren't meant to keep _us _out—the answers were all over the place, if you knew how and where to look. The puzzles were meant to keep the draugr _in. _The undead were too stupid to shift the pedestals, rotate the puzzle doors, use the claw. They were too far gone from their human minds to think laterally. (Which, if you ask Aela, is the problem with Dunmer: we think _too _laterally. Athis and I naturally disagree.)

I had fought through the massive underground crypts, solved all the puzzles, killed scores of draugr and a few dragons to boot, and learned a new Draconic word from a word wall. I had come across the half-moon shaped granite outcropping in one of the caverns within the mountain, drawn to it because of that incessant chanting that apparently only can hear. I stood blind for a moment while the word sang in my blood—_strun. Storm._ It was the first in a Shout I hadn't learned before, and yet, thanks to the knowledge from the dragons singing in my blood, I knew what it would do.

As I glanced up to the sky, sitting on the top of those stairs with that staff across my knees, and I snorted. It would seem there was no need for me to call a storm, one was setting in naturally. It was twilight, now, and usually, this is my favorite time of day. The world is so peaceful, so calm. It's a break from the hell of the everyday, for an Elf among Nords.

It was strange, though. Usually, I can't stand being alone. I start thinking about all I've done wrong and need to do, and yet at that moment, all I could think of was how Alduin needed to die. Maybe my impeding doom was helping me think straight, or maybe this was how I'd always been, under the orders and constraints of Dunmeri society. Either way, it was a welcome change from my usual, deep-seated panic. I could get used to this…

Confidence. That's what it was, _confidence. _The knowledge that what I was doing was the right thing, that I would do what needed to be done because that is what _I _valued. I always keep my word, that's why what had happened on Alinor had blown up so spectacularly and haunted my dreams. Forget the Nords, the Dunmer, the Altmer and their values—these were simply my personal ones.

I laughed aloud ruefully when I realized, a moment later, that the Daedra were using me as their plaything. I was a dead elf walking, and I knew it. What good with this realization do me now?

With a groan, I stood, placing the appropriate end Dragon Priest Staff on the floor. Healing potions are wonderful in the heat of a battle. They heal broken bones, cinch wounds—you name it, they do it. But they don't help exhaustion, or aching pains. And so all my bruises, all my lacerations, they were still intact and would remain that way unless I healed them or let them heal themselves naturally. It couldn't work up the effort to care if I left behind a pretty corpse or not.

As I fitted the end of the Dragon Priest Staff into the floor, into its niche in the circular design the Dragon Priest had been standing on, I couldn't help but wonder about something. _Where _was that vitriol from earlier coming from? I'm not usually so loud and aggressive in a fight; I let the bigger guys take care of intimidation. I had the Thu'um in a pinch, and a fair amount of magicka, but I'm not a terror on the battlefield by any means. Lately I'd been snapping back at people more and more, but in the joking way of the Companions, not the biting truth of my sisters.

I wasn't sure I liked this new being taking up residence in my skin, but I would sure as Oblivion hold on to her spirit. Dunmeri fire, they call it. My father had it in spades, as does my sister Avalon when it suits her. Dunmer are beings born of ash and forged in flame—much like the _dovah, _now that I think of it.

With a _click-snick, _the staff fitted into its niche. Swirling mists of purple and pink and orange unlike anything of this world formed in the circular courtyard. If I walked off the end of this platform now, I wouldn't crash into the floor. No, if I walked now, I would step into eternity.

I raised my gaze to the sky, Azura's domain, and I felt like I should be praying to my protector Daedra for guidance (or to Sheogorath, who technically had precedence. It's a long story). But the only thing I could think to say was delivered in a very cheeky manner:

"Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!"

My voice echoed in the courtyard for the final time as I jumped off the edge of the platform and took the plunge.


	3. The End of Control

**Hey all, have a chapter! Now this one was a fun one :3**

**And as ever, thanks to all you wonderful reviewers:**

**Lyriel: Haha that is indeed classic Ty, though now it's pre-classic. It's be beginning.**

**-)**

I awoke in Sovngarde.

It _had _to be; there was no place on Nirn like this. The sky above held domed clouds, all swirling like the mists I had seen in Skuldafn courtyard. The firmament cast an ethereal light on the ground, where what would have been normal grass, rocks, plants seemed golden or orange in the light. I could tell this had once been a beautiful place, full of joy, laughter, and kinship. But alas, this was no more. A heavy fog had rolled in, obscuring the field where I knew the Nord dead wandered until they found the Hall of Valor, Shor's domain.

I had lighted down on a stone steppe of sorts, not unlike the occasional break in the Seven Thousand Steps up to High Hrothgar. I drew in a deep breath, and tasted a cloying sweetness in the air from that fog. It was unnatural, no doubts about that, and probably dangerous. I drew in another deep breath, and barked the words, "_LOK VAH KOOR!_" to clear the air.

Almost immediately, the fog dissipated. A roar sounded over my head and I immediately ducked and drew my swords, my gaze snapping skyward, looking for the dragon that had loosed it. A shadow was flying in looping arcs through the fog in the distance, and I knew it had to be Alduin, but he seemed content with merely roaring—for now.

I sheathed my swords by kept my dagger in my left hand, simply because I'm that paranoid. I began to make my way through the fields, barking the Clear Skies shout to dissipate the fog at irregular intervals. I nearly had a heart attack when a dead Stormcloak man came running out of the fog. "Turn back!" He called.

"What are you…?" I began.

But he interrupted me: "I cannot reach the Hall of Valor, not in this blasted fog. Turn back, woman, turn back…" He ran off before I could question him further.

With that rousing boost to my confidence, I pressed on. The air here seemed to vibrate with a faint melody, and if I listened close enough I could swear I could hear the ancient words, sung in a slower, darker version of the original:

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, nal ek zin los vahriin,_

_Wah dein, vokul, mahfaeraak ahst vahl!_

_Ahrk fin norok paal graan,_

_Fod nust hon zindro zaan_

_Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_

I knew those words, they told of exactly what I came here to do—to keep evil forever at bay, to make the foe rout, and do all by my honor. But I had no honor—not according to the Dunmer for my unwillingness to bow to my mother's wishes, and not according to the Nords because though I carried the title of Harbinger, to them, I had not earned it. I vowed then, I would at least go out in a way to make both proud. It was all I had left to hold on to, those shreds of my battle-honor. A tight pang constricted my heart._ I'm so afraid to die…_

I ran into Kodlak on the way, and the old Harbinger looked just as lost as the Stormcloak I'd encountered earlier. "Hail, Harbinger," he greeted.

I bowed, Dunmeri-style. "Hail, Harbinger."

He smiled thinly. "When the time comes, Morwyn, I have no doubt you will do what is asked of you."

My brow furrowed. "I'm already here…"

I wish I'd interpreted that the right way the first time.

I continued through that fog, running into Stormcloaks and Imperials alike, Nords one and all. Eventually, I came to a clearing in the fog. A bridge of bones spanned a huge chasm, the spine of some great beast long since dead. Before it stood a large man, tall as a Frost Giant, dressed in a leather kilt, leather armor, and with a huge, two-handed weapon strapped across his back. I couldn't tell what it was from here.

"I am Tsun," he boomed, "Shield-Thane to Shor. What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to the honored dead?"

I answered honestly, in the Nordic way. "I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater."

He smiled sadly to me, as if he already knew. "A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Wyrm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught—perhaps, deep counseled, your doom he foresaw." He sighed. "No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare enter the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

I was annoyed at his brushing away my "doom," and so I answered the thing I knew would most deeply unsettle him: "By right of Glory. I lead the Companions of Jorrvaskr."

But Tsun only smiled, and the honesty in the motion reminded me of Farkas. _(Don't think about it, Morwyn. Don't think of him.) _"I welcome the chance to challenge the blade of Ysgramor's heir, honored Shield-Sister to Kodlak Whitemane, whom I've watched for in vain. Let us fight."

He drew his weapon (a battle axe. Of _course _it was a battle-axe) and I drew my swords, and so we began. I wasn't too worried about killing an immortal (they're notoriously difficult to kill); I was more focused on not dying myself. I wasn't sure what would happen to a Daedra Worshipper killed in Sovngarde. Was Sovngarde one of the Planes of Oblivion, or was it somewhere else entirely? The former made about as much sense as anything.

So I struck quickly, I dodged and rolled. I was like a sneakthief, making my person as small as possible to minimize his target. I slashed at the exposed skin on his chest as I blew past him. I nearly fell into the chasm, but managed to rout myself at the last second. I twisted back around, fully ready to fling myself back into the fray, but Tsun was sheathing his weapon.

"I judge you worthy, wayfarer grim," Tsun announced, stepping aside. "The way to the Hall of Valor stands clear."

I bowed to him, Dunmeri-style, before making my way across the bridge. I did my best not to look down as I stepped gingerly over the rickety Whale bone bridge. _That's _what this thing was, a _whale. _Sitting at the other end was a large, imposing building that was something of a cross between High Hrothgar and the city of Windhelm—the old Nord style. I pushed open one of the enormous doors, surprised that my minute strength could even budge the thing.

The inner hall reminded me of Jorrvaskr (_Don't think about it Morwyn, don't think about them.), _what with the huge firepit, tables laden with food and drink, and rabble-rousing Nords fighting and singing and drinking—especially drinking. I found myself squinting at the bright light of the pillared room—everything seemed to glow here with an ethereal light.

A blond, burly, armored Nord intercepted me, catching my elbow as I made my way down the steps. "Welcome, Dragonborn!"

Dunmeri breeding took over automatically. "Hello." I gave a weak smile.

He returned it. "I am Ysgramor, elfling. You lead my honored Shield-Brothers and –Sisters now."

_This _was Ysgramor? Holy Azura's ghost, the Twins would never _believe _this, never mind Ael…!

Oh. Right.

"Our door and stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here," Ysgramor continued. "By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe: Gormlaith the Fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the Valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

I nodded, trying to steel myself for the coming storm. Alduin the World-Eater had ruined my day, so I was about to ruin his... _Where did _that _thought come from? _More and more as I'd gone through Skuldafn, through Sovngarde, I found myself raging against my fate, unwilling to go quietly. It was so unlike me. "They will not walk away disappointed."

Ysgramor clapped me on the shoulder. "Of that, I have no doubt, Harbinger Dragonborn."

I found the three Heroes in question a few moments later. I had seen them at the Time Wound, after all. A proud Nord warrior woman, who reminded me so much of Aela the Huntress (_Dammit, Tiberia Morwyn, do not THINK about them!) "_At long last!" she called, "Alduin's doom is now ours to seal—just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks." She laid her hand on the pommel of her sword.

"Hold, comrades," Felldir counseled, looking wise and indeed old in what seemed to me to be an older version of the Greybeards' robes, "let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare—its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

"Felldir speaks wisdom," agreed Hakon, armored and battle-ready with an unshakable demeanor like Ulfric Stormcloak himself. "The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

I nodded, cracking my knuckles and feeling like Torvar (_Don't think about it Morwyn, don't think about him.)_ "Lets get skull-cracking."

These three eloquent warriors laughed at the bluntness. "To battle, my friends!" Gormlaith cried, slamming the hilt of her sword into her shield in that glorious battle-noise. "The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills _undaunted."_

I followed them out of the Hall of Valor, back across the Whalebone bridge, and out to the front steps where I'd first found Tsun. The huge man retreated back to stand at the beginning of the Whalebone bridge, as if to guard Shor's hall from the God of Destruction. The mist had returned in my absence, clogging up the fields once more.

"We cannot fight the foe in this mist," Felldir noted dryly.

_Brilliant observation, _I wanted to say. "So how do we fix it?"

We paused a moment, then Gormlaith said, as though she'd just realized it, "Clear Skies! Combine our Shouts."

We four drew in deep breaths, armor tightening as our ribcages expanded outwards like a bellows. "_LOK VAH KOOR!"_

The skies cleared, and as I readied my swords, a deafening cry of _"VEN MUL RIIK!" _resounded from above us. The _dovah_ souls in my blood sang to me, telling me it mean Wind Strong Gale, and I knew that _that _Shout was causing this unnatural mist.

"Again!" Gormlaith called.

Four as one: _"LOK VAH KOOR!"_

And again: "_VEN MUL RIIK!"_

"We can shatter his power if we Shout together!" Felldir proclaimed just as Hakon bemoaned, "Does his strength have no end!?"

"Once more," I prodded, sensing a shift in the winds, so to speak.

"Stand fast!" Gormlaith agreed. "His strength is failing! Once more, and his will might be broken."

I drew in breath: "_LOK VAH KOOR!"_

There was no return Shout. "His power crumbles," Felldir noted with a grin as he drew his greatsword. "Do not pause for breath!"

I smirked. "I don't intend to."

A great black shadow had come out from behind the craggy hill across from the Whalebone bridge. His wings were enormous, enough to blot out the sun, his talons glittering in the twilight of Sovngarde. _This _was the World-Eater. _This _was Alduin. _This _was my destiny.

And I would face it with my head held high, the way I should have been all along.

"_Pahlok joorre!"_ The Draconic came down amidst his first barrage of fire. _Arrogant mortals! _the dragons in my blood sang to me. _"Hin kah fen kos bonaar!" Your pride will be humbled!_

"_Zu'u Dovahkiin!" _I replied as I dodged the blaze. _I am Dragonborn! "Ahrk zu fen ni kos nahlot!" And I will not be silenced! _

When he swooped again, I made a shot in the dark: "_JOOR ZAH FRUL!" _

Dragonrend missed that time, but Alduin knew what it meant, all right. "_Zu'u unslaad!" _he scoffed as he passed overhead, his voice a deep, throaty rumble. _I am immortal. "Zu'u nis oblaan." I cannot die._

Legends die, all right. And _his _was next. I dodged the next array of fire he sent blasting our way and barked _"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" _once more, in a voice to tear at my throat. He was on the way out, there was no way... wait.

It caught him by the tail, but by Sheogorath's mercy, it had caught him! In a flash, the four of us pounced on the grounded _dovah. _Even as I hacked and slashed at his scaly hide, looking for a weak point, I felt the Thu'um build up in me once more, like a clock spring being wound. I slashed his wings to ribbons, breaking some of the wing bones as I went, trying to keep the great beast grounded. I got talons in the face for my troubles.

Gormlaith, Hakon, and Felldir weren't faring much better. Sure, with those cold, black wings cut to shreds Alduin couldn't fly, but that didn't mean he was any weaker. Those talons could eviscerate—and nearly did so to Felldir, who was only in a mages' robe. Hakon had tackled him out of the way just in time, taking the brunt of the talon swipe across his armor. It sliced open his armor, and I wondered, _Can the dead bleed?_

I didn't have time to figure it out; I charged back into the fight, barking a Shout I seldom used, _"YOL TOOR SHUL!" _Fire leapt from my mouth and slammed into Alduin's hide, igniting those tattered wings. He threw back his head, howling with rage, and I readied my swords for another strike.

But I was too slow.

Quick as lightning, Alduin's neck shot forward and he threw me up in the air with his jaws. The domed sky of Sovngarde suddenly drew so much nearer to me as I thrashed wildly about in the air. Daedric armor or no, mage or no, I couldn't remember the Shout to become ethereal and I somehow could sense that Alduin's great jaw was going to snap me in half momentarily. Time seemed to slow as I fell back down to earth. If this was how I died, I intended to make it worth my while.

I revered the grip on my sword just as I felt those massive teeth crunch down on my armor. I reared back to strike, thrashing in the vain hopes of breaking free. For the briefest of moments, there was a small glimmer of hope as I got my ebony sword line up with his eye. But as I struck, so did he.

Those teeth cracked the Daedric-forged ebony as my sword slammed into his eye (and out the other). The pain was astounding, like something I'd never felt before. I didn't know pain this strong _existed, _really—and that's something, from a Daedra worshipper. Alduin's now-lifeless head slammed into the ground, driving his teeth further into my midsection. Without the will of the great dragon behind it, they didn't drive in as deeply as they could have, but I'd already had the wind knocked out of me and I was bleeding profusely.

I was fading out of consciousness. I was barely aware of the cries of _"Dragonborn!" _from the Heroes of old as Felldir, Gormlaith, and Hakon worked to pry Alduin's jaws open and get me out.

Tsun's voice filtered through my dying consciousness: "That was a mighty deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at… oh!"

I felt the teeth come free, felt myself get lifted out of Alduin's jaw. "She's dying…!" Gormlaith cried, sounded truly terrified. "A mortal, dying in the gods' realm? Send her back, Tsun! Gods above, her kind don't even _worship _Shor!"

"Wait…" I managed to get out, feeling like a draugr. I needed to absorb Alduin's soul, stop him from returning…

I cracked open my eyes to bloodred slits, waiting. Alduin's now-dead body was burning the way the _dovahhe _do when they die, but something wans't right. The air should have smelt of ash, not decay, and the magic rising from him should have been warm, like restoration—not cold, like conjuration. And it shouldn't have been black, either.

Too late, I realized the problem, and I was in no situation to move. His soul lashed out at me, cracking like a whip across my chest. I felt my skin alight like dry paper on contact. My ears caught the most horrendous, mad sound and I realized, belatedly, that it was my laughter, choked and twisted through ash and fire and smoke. Dunmer are beings born of fire, after all. I guess I was just returning to it in a more literal manner than usual. Ash to ash once more.

The last thing I heard was a broken Shout, as though the vocalist was trying to remember it from years of disuse: _"Naal… daal… vus…!" _


	4. Winter Solstice

**Hey all, sorry this one took so long. Life's been crazy on my end. Hope you enjoy :3**

**To the non-PM crew:**

**Lyriel: good to see you back :) Also I totally agree about the Whalebone thing. **

**Guest: The Companions will be a bit concerned. :3 Let's just leave it at that for now, eh?**

**Onward.**

**-)**

I don't know how long I was out, but when I next came to, the world was dark and cold. Not freezing, just cold. I felt like I should have been shivering, and yet I found no reason to be. Was I finally getting used to Skyrim after all?

Wait… _Skyrim!?_

I cracked my eyes fully open, wincing when something dry flaked off my eyelids. Something leathery and dark was over my head, and I pushed it out of the way with shaking fingers. (Maybe I was shivering after all?) The sun was setting, not so blinding as it would have been in the daylight against the snow. The sky above was clear, the stars like teardrops of light against the inky darkness. I sat up, rubbing my eyes as I did so. More of that crusty, flaky gunk came off on the palms of my hands, and even more so than that, I was staring at the palms of my hands in utter disbelief.

I had earned a lot of scars during my time with the Companions—a _lot _of scars—and there was one on my left hand where I'd grabbed the wrong end of my dagger. It had been under the knapsack I'd been using as a pillow when those bandits had jumped me. Even with my hand bleeding all over the dirt, I'd killed the three of them before I was even fully awake. Or at least, I'd _had _that scar. Now the skin was smooth and unmarked as my name day.

Speaking of which, so was the rest of me, minus the tattoo on my hip of the Daedric Letter A, and the giant, half-circle Alduin had given me. I also realized I was naked as my name day, sitting in the snow on the throat of the world. I immediately curled into a tight ball upon this realization, embarrassed even though no one else was around. As a werewolf, I was a little more used to nakedness than most, but it was still an uncomfortably vulnerable experience. Especially to a Dunmer lady such as myself.

But my skin… something wasn't quite right with it. I brushed off more of that flaky gunk, not pausing long enough to consider what it could be. It was sort of like burned tissue, but my skin wasn't the pink of a burned Dunmer. It was blue-grey, the way it was supposed to be. Just… _clean. _I had only two scars left. _Two scars _to show a life of hardship and strife and coming out on top anyway. Nchow, I was going to be no fun around a campfire any time soon.

I glanced around, realizing that I was sitting atop the Throat of the World, and that thing I'd woken up staring down was Paarthurnax's wing. My armor—or rather, what was left of it—was lying in a twisted heap across the way, the ebony folded in on itself as though it had been exposed to dragons' fire at close quarters for an extended amount of time. It was of no use to me or anyone else in that state.

A deep rumble over my shoulder alerted me to the fact that Paarthurnax had taken wing. His shadow passed over me before he set himself down with a huge thump a short ways away. He fixed me in his ancient gaze and rumbled, "_"_So, it is done. _Alduin dilon_." _Alduin is dead._ "The Eldest is no more. He who came before all others, and has always been."

I nodded, curling into an even tighter ball because now I had to keep up a sentient conversation with someone. Well, some_thing. _In all honesty, I don't think Paarthurnax even realized I was naked. "You sound… sad."

Paarthurnax sighed—as much as _dovah _do, anyway. "Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation, _mal briinah." Little Sister. _"_Zeymahi lost ont du'ol Barahu."_ _My brother was once the son of my father. _"You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok—the arrogance of his power." Another huge sigh from the Onik Gein, the ancient one. "But I cannot celebrate his fall. _Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah_." I am dreadful at his fall. I probably translated that one wrong, but I had no chance to dwell. "He was my brother once, Dovahkiin. This world will never be the same."

"Perhaps that is for the better, fahdon."

Paarthurnax sighed. "Perhaps. But family is family, little one. That cannot be denied."

I sighed, pulling my knees up tighter against my chest. "I know. But Alduin brought it upon himself. I regret nothing."

"Nor should you. Alduin failed to see, _rok funta koraav. _Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _vennesetiid—_the…"

"Currents of time," I finished with him, and Paarthurnax blinked in astonishment.

If it is possible for a dragon to look confused, than Paarthurnax did. "How did you guess that?"

I shrugged. "I didn't guess, _in." Master. _"I knew."

"You knew…?" Paarthurnax's eyes narrowed as he studied me. I shifted in discomfort beneath the scrutiny.

_Stop staring, dammit! _"Err, Paarthurnax, would you kindly…?"

_"The Yol se Aaz!" _he practically bellowed, and normally, I would have jumped out of my skin at the sudden noise, particularly from a _dovah_. For some reason, though, this time I didn't.

My brow furrowed. "The what?"

Normally I wouldn't say Paarthurnax _smiled, _but there was no way to explain this facial expression any other way. "_Yol se Aaz, _little sister. Fire of Mercy, in your tongue. This is a _wondrous _occasion!"

My brow furrowed. "Err, Paarthurnax…?"

But he was still going. "_Krosis, mal briinah. _Were you a true _dovah, _I would have recognized this in you immediately! _Krosis, krosis…" _He seemed truly apologetic for not realizing this… Fire of Mercy. What in Oblivion did that even _mean, _anyway?

"Paarthurnax," I said in a cold, hard voice—the way the _dovah _speak, "_what did Alduin do to me?"_

But he was taking to the skies; my words were lost. _"Keizaal _must know the _Dovahkiin _is a true _dovah! _He was absolutely beaming. "_Nol Yol se Aaz, Vedod se kiin, Zahrahmiik se Dov, alok. Alok, feyn se dez, ahrk kos Sunvaarseyollokke. _The prophecy may yet be fulfilled…_"_ He flew into the rapidly deepening night, calling back over his wings. "Perhaps mine_ zeymahhe _might yet bow to the rightness of my Thu'um after all, with the _Dovahkiin _through her _yol se aaz…!"_

I watched his silhouette recede into the distance and felt a growing sense of unease unfurl beneath my sternum. How on _Nirn _was I going to get down from here, naked as my name day, no armor, no weapons, and the Greybeards in the way? By the damn Seven, how had I gotten into this mess? And that bloody prophecy of Paarthrunax's, thrown over his shoulder as he flew… what did that even mean?

I could translate it, sure—_From the Fire of Mercy, the Black Snow of Birth, Sacrifice of Dragonkind, arise. Arise, bane of fate, and be the Beast of Fire and Skies—_but it didn't make any bloody sense. The longer I sat there fuming, the angrier I became. This was _just _like the _dov, _to leave me in the dark assuming that I knew something or other because I had _dovahsos, _dragon blood. Like that was a substitute for being raised in the doctrine and schooled in it from birth! I knew the difference; I was a bloody _Dunmer _raised in the House tradition. I knew who I was, dammit.

Or at least, I used to. I realized, dimly through the rising anger, that this wasn't like me. I didn't rage like this, I certainly didn't rant like this, and I didn't feel this distinct need to rip something limb from limb in my fury. _What in the Sixteen Realms of Oblivion is happening to me? First I lose my temper in Skuldafn, now this?_

I realized, I had another _dovah _to call—_Odahviing. _I just didn't know him nearly as well, and there was still the resounding problem that _I was naked._ I was shivering in the frigid Skyrim air now, and tempted to shift into the Beast with its warm fur coat. But if I shifted to the Beast, the Greybeards wouldn't recognize me, and I'd probably get Shouted off the mountain, if not burned to a crisp.

Before I could think to Shout, a dark figure looped up and over the summit of the mountain. _How on Nirn can I fight like this…? _I'd heard the Clansmen of Falkreath run into battle stark naked, but the Dunmer of Ald'ruhn sure as Oblivion didn't. But the figure landed, a great scaly beast, and I was relieved to realize I recognized the bloodred scales.

Odahviing landed in the snow before me, and he bowed low, the _dovahhe _way. "_Pruzah wundunne wah Onik Gein, niid?" Good travels to the Old One_, _no? _"I wish the Old One luck in his…" Here Odahviing struggled to find the word. "…quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's 'Way of the Voice.'"

I snorted. "Will you?"

Odahviing paused to consider this. "You have proven your mastery twice over. _Thuri, Dovahkiin." My overlord, Dragonborn. "_I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um." He brought his head to eye level with mine. "_Zu'u Odahviing." I am Odahviing. _His breath was hot against my face, and I could feel the newly-formed skin de-thawing. (I had realized, belatedly, that that's what that gunk had been—old skin.) "Call me when you have need, _fahdon; _I will come if I can." He began to pump his wings in preparation for take off.

I realized how I was going to get down from here. "Odahviing!" I called before he'd risen too far.

"_Geh?" _he asked as he hovered there. _Yes?_

"A favor, _fahdon," _I called to him, gesturing for him to land again as much as I could without really moving my arm. "I need you to do something for me."

Odahviing thumped down onto the ground again, looking as confused as Dovah ever do. (Their faces are kind to facial expressions.) "What is it you need, _mal briinah?"_

I drew in a deep breath. "I need you to fly to High Hrothgar and ask the Greybeards for a spare robe."

He blinked at me. "A… what?"

I was cold and annoyed. "_Clothes, _Odahviing. Those things humans and elves wear? I need them."

Odahviing blinked. "Is that why you sit like this?"

I nodded, feeling the flush creep into my face. "It's embarrassing. I can't believe I've had a conversation like this. Two in fact."

Odahviing cocked his head like a confused wolf. It reminded me of the Wolf Twins in their Beast forms with a painful pang beneath my sternum. "You win a _morokei grah, _and you are embarrassed?" A glorious battle.

I shot him a look. "Just _go, _would you?" Where was this commander in me coming from? Bloodlines somewhere?

To my great surprise, Odahviing nodded. "_Geh, Dovahkiin. _I go. I just do not understand." He took to the skies, muttering, "_Fahliille _are strange creatures."

I watched his silhouette against the moon for a moment as he dove towards High Hrothgar. Then the cold set it, and when I set a foot down to move myself, the snow burned like frozen fire. I realized belatedly that I hadn't asked for boots.

By the bloody Nine and all the Daedra in Oblivion, this was going to be a long night.


	5. Homecoming

**So. **

**I could take this time to rant about how shitty my internet is, and how much my computer makes me want to bash my head into the wall, and about how very sorry I am that this took so long.**

**However, I will do none of those things. 'Twould take away from the lovely rant below by our buddy, Tiberia.**

**Therefore, I'm just going to set this chapter here and fume in my own little corner. :D**

**To the non-PM crowd:**

**Lyriel: yeah, poor Ty had a lot to deal with last chapter :)**

**-)**

"Yes, yes, I'm fine; I'm fine; _I'm_ _bloody fine!" _I bit off amidst the uproar I'd created.

I had just busted open the doors of Jorrvaskr and the entirety of the room had jumped to their feet, hands on hilts of weapons. It was dinner hour, and everyone from the Twins to Vignar Grey-Mane to Tilma had been seated at the table. The cries of surprise, alarm, even fear that had emanated form the table hadn't surprised me. I knew I looked like I'd crawled up from the darkest pit of Oblivion. A tattered Greybeard robe that had been cut for a male Nord's proportions, not a female Dark Elf who erred on the smaller side of average, plus no weapons except what she could conjure herself, plus the feral ferocity of a werewolf in her eyes, plus hood fully drawn across fiery crimson eyes, plus the fact that she'd clearly walked barefoot from the Throat of the World to Whiterun… I could see why my Shield-Siblings were confused, even scared. The Morwyn they knew was tough enough to be their Shield-Sister, sure, but this? This was a whole 'nother animal.

This, I realized with a smirk, was Tiberia.

"Morwyn!" Vilkas had risen from his seat, not daring to believe his eyes.

I held up a hand, palm out, and the room froze. "I am tired," I announced in that cold, commanding voice I now called my _dovah _voice, and the more I continued to speak, the faster the words came out and the angrier I became. "I haven't slept more than two hours in a row in two weeks; I have been living off _raw meat…" _A pointed glance to the other members of the Circle ensured that they got the message, all right. "…for the same length of time; my weapons and armor were trashed after the battle with Alduin; I had to fight like a mage or a _beast_ to get back here…" Oh yeah, the Circle _definitely _knew what I meant now, if they hadn't before. "…This…" I tugged at the robe. "…affords _no _protection in a fight; I have been casting spells practically nonstop since the Vigilants of Stendarr found me and chased me across the bloody plains because _apparently _I'm a well-known Daedra Worshipper…" And a werewolf, to boot. "…and should any of you see any of them, chop off the head and bring it to me because it's going on a _pike _next to the front door; I have been set _on fire_ multiple times this past fortnight; _and I walked from the Throat of the World to Whiterun barefoot!"_

My shoulders were shaking in an effort to regulate my breathing, and the room was shocked at the outburst. I was never so angry—or vocal. I was usually an observer. "So," I bit off once I could breathe, "I am not telling _any _stories or giving _any _explanations until I have _slept, eaten, and bathed…" _I held up one blue-grey finger for each one. "… and if _any _of you fetchers wake me up…" Here I paused and leveled the room in a world-class glare. "…There will be Mehrunes Dagon to pay. Do I make myself clear?"

"As glass," Athis managed to get out for the room.

"Good!" I barked. "Then thus saith the Harbinger." I bit off every word as I pounded over to the stairs and into the undercroft. The silence of the shocked room was like a thundercloud behind me.

-)

It was almost two days later before the Companions were gathered in the main hall of Jorrvaskr to listen to the tales I told of Sovngarde. They sat there in shocked silence, listening with eyes wide and ears open. And so I told them of meeting Ysgramor and Kodlak, of fighting alongside their heroes, of the battle with Alduin, and of waking up on the Throat of the World as I had.

"…And that's how I ended up with _this," _I finished out, rolling the hem of my shirt up to the bottom edge of my ribcage to expose the half-moon scar I'd recently received.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the rest of the room. Vilkas' hand twitched at his side, longing to reach out and see if the ropy, raised tissue was real. "By the Nine…!" Torvar trailed off.

"I'm alive," I informed them bluntly, yanking my shirt back down again, "and well. So don't go pitying me just yet." I cracked a smile. "It doesn't become you all. We're _Companions, _for Talos' sake."

That was the second explosion I created in ten minutes. "For… _whose _sake?" Aela asked quietly, certain her ears were misleading her.

I blinked. "Who did I say?"

"Talos," Athis told me, and I couldn't tell if he was disgusted or just dumbstruck.

"Wait… really?" Nods from across the room. My hand went to my head. "I... excuse me."

I departed from the room before they could protest, and was torn between heading up to the roof of Dragonsreach and heading up to the Skyforge. The latter won out, after a moment, simply because I couldn't bear the thought of climbing up there right now. The _dovah _in me had been growing stronger ever since Sovngarde—my Draconic was better, my love of the sky and stars was stronger, my need to be near fire was greater—and frankly, it scared me. So I would put up with being cold and low to the ground, if only to quell the raging beast within.

It felt like I had a fever. I had Goosebumps on the exposed skin of my arms, and the winter wind chilled the sweat on my brow and cut through the shirt on my back to chill the sweat there, too. I wasn't sick (werewolves can't _get _sick), but I felt it. Though I suppose this new ill feeling was better than what had come before it.

Because _nothing _had come before it. I felt like a void, a shell. The reserved Elf that had been Morwyn was gone, and in her place was a fiery hellcat who couldn't keep her mouth shut. All the way back to Whiterun, I'd been barking insults at enemies, using the Fire Breath Shout, and cursing up a streak to rival Torvar's. Speaking of, I even found the drunken old guy _funny, _now. The old Morwyn had blushed when she'd come to Jorrvaskr, bristled at the impropriety, the way an Elf was supposed to. Sure, I'd loosened up as I'd gotten to know the Companions, but certain things were just bred into me. Things like manners and highbrow humor and the inability to boast like the Nords. But those things… they were gone, leaving me feeling empty. What was this _Yol se Aaz _of Paarthurnax's, and why did I feel so _different?_

I breathed in and out slowly, trying to even my world out. If I could just—"Morwyn, are you all right?"

My eyes snapped open, finding their mark on a very concerned-looking Vilkas Jergenson. "Fine," I assured him. "Just bloody fine."

He claimed a spot beside me. "Are you sure?"

I shot him a glance, annoyed. "Obviously."

He held his hands up, palms out. "Peace, my love, be at peace."

The two of us sat there in heavy silence for a long moment.

"Are you…?" he began tentatively, recognizing that I was annoyed.

"Vilkas," I interrupted snappishly, "leave me _be_, would you kindly?"

He was visibly shocked at the outburst. I_ always_ needed someone around; it was just how I was. I never turned away visitors from my room, no matter what I was up to, and I always found a moment to spare for advice. I hated being alone, I'd told him once. I tended to just remember what I'd done wrong.

My facial features softened, just a tad, at his shock. "Sorry," I said, offhandedly. "I just… want to be alone for a while. Make sense of my thoughts, you know?"

"Sure, of course." Vilkas didn't believe me for a moment, but he could smell that I was telling the truth.

I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I just told you the story—all there is, anyway. And it made me realize that some things aren't adding up."

He smiled, and nodded. "Aye, I could see that. But Morwyn, you don't have to figure it all out alone…" The hand I held up for peace silenced him.

"I don't have to, no," I agreed. "But I think I need to."

Vilkas sighed, his breath coming out a foggy cloud before him. "All right." He kissed my forehead and then stood. "Just don't freeze to death out here, Morwyn."

The corner of my lips quirked into a smile. "Too inglorious an end for me, Shield-Brother. I'll be fine."

His back retreated down the stairs, and I watched him go with a fair amount of puzzlement. Something between us had shifted, and I didn't like it, whatever it was. It felt… ominous. And like an omen of ill fate from a Vvardenfell shaman, I doubted I'd be able to shake it off for a long time, yet.

_What a shitty homecoming, _I thought bitterly. I felt bad, biting their heads off like that, but I couldn't stop myself. And the shock I'd received in return was… well, it cut deep. I felt kind of off, true, but I was still _Morwyn. _

…Right?

_No_, I realized belatedly. _I'm not the same as I was. _The woman that had gone to Sovngarde was gone, and from the looks of things, she was never coming back. And I was so confused, and I couldn't tell if I should be mourning her loss, or celebrating it. I hated a great many parts of myself—I think a lot of people do, honestly—but could I live with them completely stripped away, gone?

_You're going to have to, _said the little voice in the back of my head.

I told it to shut up and mind its own damn business.


	6. And For Ourselves, We Take Our Leave

**Hey all, this is it :) Less of a delay this time, because yay Library internetz! I hope you all enjoyed the show. Feels weird for me to finish something with so few chapters.**

**Also, if any of you are into Naruto, I've posted a fun little fic over there, too. Hope to see you there! :)**

**To the non-PM crew:**

**We know: yeah, my internet hates life. Especially my life. And thank you :)**

**Much love and many thanks to you all you awesome readers. **

**And now,**

**Onward.**

**-)**

There are times when I'm right, and I hate that I'm right. The next few months at Jorrvaskr were one such time.

I had been right about this new Morwyn being here to stay. I was no longer quiet, poised, elfish Morwyn. I was down and dirty in the trenches with the rest of them, telling bawdy jokes in the Bannered Mare with Torvar, going toe-to-toe with Farkas in the yard, barking back at Njada when she snapped at me. Athis couldn't make heads or tails of me anymore, even when we made the trek to Azura's Shrine for the Old Life Festival. We didn't have the same unspoken similarities. Sure, we were Dark Elves raised in Morrowind, not Vvardenfel, and loved to crack jokes about the Ashlanders, and sure, we were both talented swordsmen who weren't above casting spells, too, but there was no longer the unspoken "I know what you've been through" undertone anymore. This was different, uneasy. Like Athis didn't quite know what to say to me anymore, I was too much like Aela, or Farkas, or Vilkas.

Oi, Vilkas… I had been right about the shift in the balance of power between us, as well. Something had just… I don't know, fallen in the rift created by Sovngarde, I guess. I came back to Nirn changed, and that's the long and short of it. But it's _what _changed about me… that's what I can't understand. I feel like this new woman is who I'm supposed to be—who I would have been, if not for my sisters and my mother and their power-hungry plotting. I guess it took staring down the World-Eater to tell me that. It's been a long time since I could look my reflection in the eye, but I'm learning. I'm getting better at being who _I _want to be, not what others want me to be, or expect me to be. and I wish I could have found this courage to do it sooner.

I only wish that this new Tiberia Morwyn got along with the wolfman. Every time we were together, something else would break off from us, fall into the rift that Sovngarde had created in me. First it was the easy laughter and dignity we had—I was more like a crass Nord in demeanor, now. Then it was the understanding we had of each other that fell in—why is he doing this, why did she say that? Then it was the easiness with which we fought together—resulted in more than a few broken bones and lacerations. And then… then it was the rest.

Vilkas and I had made the trek to Ysgramor's Tomb together, to cleanse me of the Beast Blood once and for all. It was maybe six months after my return to Nirn, maybe six months since I'd assumed the title of Harbinger as he'd hoped I would, and maybe six months since I'd felt like anything more than a void, a shell. I didn't know who I was, and I couldn't tell you why that was so upsetting, for me. I hated the coward who had run from Alinor and hidden amongst the humans in Cyrodiil and now Skyrim—why was I mourning her passing?

Fear of the unknown, I guess. Can't think of any better reason.

Anyway, so Vilkas and I went to cleanse me of the Beast Blood—and, if I'm being entirely honest, to clear the air between us as well. He was quiet all the way to Winterhold, and most of our conversations consisted of "You want to take first watch, or want me to?" and "Your armor laces are untied." Before, this silence would've driven me mad, and I could see Vilkas was testing me, in his own way. Trying to see if the Old Morwyn was still in there, somewhere.

Nchow, I wouldn't be the first to crack. He wants to tell me something, he can tell me himself, dammit. I have no patience for mind games and manipulations. Even less, post-Sovngarde.

My inner wolf put up a hell of a fight (as well she should, since she was a part of me), and as a result, by the time Vilkas and I were back out into Skyrim again, we were bruised, bloodied, and tired. "Hold on," Vilkas grunted, holding his hand out to me.

I flicked glance in his direction. "Hmm?"

"Just… give me a moment."

And that's how we ended up sitting on the overhang that was above the door to the tomb. The crisp, winter breeze blowing in off the Sea of Ghosts froze us both to the bone, but when Vilkas drew me closer to him with an arm around my shoulders, I couldn't tell if that was even colder. We were both just so distant lately, so unlike ourselves. Me? I was changing; everyone could attest to that. I wasn't sure what was north, south, or sideways. Him? Well, when Vilkas withdraws, he's in pain.

Wordlessly, I held a healing potion out to him. Because while I may not be able to heal his emotional pain, I could help with the physical, at least. He accepted it just as silently, downing it in one gulp as he threw back his head. He chucked the now-empty glass vial at the ice below, and it continued skidding across the surface until it tumbled end-over-end into the sea.

I couldn't help myself: "Now that's poetic."

"_Dammit_, Morwyn," Vilkas growling, slamming a palm into the snow between us.

I cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You know what," he growled back.

More silence, the kind that neither of us knew what to do with. So I broke Farkas' way, sort of, "Pretend for a moment that I don't?"

Vilkas let out a breath, and it crystallized in front of his face, the way my words do in an Ice Breath Shout. "You aren't you, anymore, Little Elf," he said, more gently that he'd previously been speaking.

I couldn't stand the sympathy, and I turned back to face the endless sea. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I felt a rough hand seize my face by the chin and physically turn my head. I was forced to look him in the eye now, and silvery-grey met fiery crimson. "Morwyn… what happened to you in Sovngarde? I mean, what _really _happened?"

He wouldn't release my face. "I don't know," I said quietly. "I've told you all I can—you _know _that."

"But you aren't _you, _anymore. This… woman, who came back—she's not my Morwyn."

"No," I agreed quietly, breaking both our hearts at once, "she isn't, is she?"

"Don't do this, Morwyn," Vilkas said, and he sounded halfway to pleading—and Vilkas _doesn't _plead. He suggests, he orders, he'll even ask, but he _never _pleads. "Don't throw away all you've worked for, because…"

I jerked my head out of his grasp, effectively interrupting him. "Do not presume you can order me about, Vilkas. I'm a friend, not a subordinate."

I think that was what did him in—that I called myself 'friend,' and nothing more. "Morwyn…" his voice had gone decidedly quiet. "I love you, don't _do _this."

I couldn't look him in the eye. I couldn't even look the _sea _in the eye. All I could do was stare at my hands, clenched in my lap. I had no words left, that wouldn't break his heart, mine, or both.

By the twisted mercy of the Daedra, Vilkas continued, "I made a promise, that I'd stand by your side until the Divines take us, and you…"

"I what," I questioned dangerously, "worship the Daedra instead?"

"_You won't even answer me!" _There was raw hurt in his voice, raw pain. I couldn't stand to leave him like this; I wished I could just fix things, smooth 'em over until we could talk civilly.

But in that moment, I realized that time would never come. It was what I'd been doing, in regards to this oh-so important question. The answer before Sovngarde had been no because I was sure I'd die—not because I didn't want to. The answer now was no, for an entirely different reason.

"I can't make you happy," I murmured quietly, my own voice breaking. "Why can't you see that?" I drew in a deep breath, and drew myself up to my full, seated height. "No, I won't do that to you. I…" I drew in a breath. No, I wasn't going to stutter, wasn't going to back down, and wasn't going to sacrifice myself for someone else again—no matter whom he was. I'd been doing it all my life, but this was where things changed. "I'm sorry Vilkas, I truly am. But the answer is no."

He was too much a gentlemen to complain about it. He only asked, "Why?"

I sighed, willing myself not to cry. "A lot of reasons, Vilkas, more than there are stars in the sky. But it isn't you who's failing, Shield-Brother…" My voice dropped even lower on the audible scale. "…it's me."

He squeezed the hand I had in the snow. "I've told you, we can _help _you, _I _can…"

"No." One quiet, little word, and the great man was silenced. "I'm so sorry, but I…" I couldn't love someone else if I didn't even love myself. I could see that now, clear as glass. "It's something I need to do on my own." I was suddenly on my feet. "Come on. Let's go."

"You go on ahead," Vilkas replied, going toneless in the effort to control his grief. "I'll catch up with you in a bit."

"Fine." I leapt from the overhang.

And you know, he never did.

-)

After that, I couldn't stand being in Jorrvaskr anymore. These faces, these places, these people, Vilkas… I was the source of their most poignant pain, and I refused to trouble their lives with my selfishness anymore. And so when I called the meeting the week after I'd cleansed myself of the Beast Blood, I knew there would be no turning back, after this. This… had an air of finality to it.

I stood on the table in the main room, just above the fire. Aela was sitting stiff-backed on the stairs, Farkas was leaning against one of the pillars, and Vilkas sat a few paces from Aela, a tankard in his hands. Njada was seated at the table a few chairs down from where I stood, Torvar was comfortably situated in an armchair near the pillar opposite Farkas', Ria sat cross-legged in front of the fire, and Athis stood loosely at attention by the door.

"Harbinger," they had greeted in turn when they'd arrived. "Shield-Sister."

I drew in a breath. Everyone was here; time to get on with it. "Listen, everyone," I said, and for once, my Elven cadence didn't seem so out of place here, in the Mead Hall of the Companions. "I have an announcement. Actually, two."

A few pairs of eyes flicked to Vilkas, but when he didn't raise his head, they flicked back to me. I drew in another breath. "I need to be honest with you all—I've been a shitty Harbinger recently." This was met with a smattering of protests, but I held up a hand for silence. "No, that isn't the announcement, that's the _reason_ for the announcement." More than my own lips quirked upwards in an unwanted smile, at that.

"I've been a shitty Harbinger, and I know I have, and I'm not going to get any better doing what I've been doing. Sovngarde… well, Sovngarde mucked me up, and that's all there is to say on that." Athis blushed at the near-profanity; no one else moved a muscle. "So I've done a bit of research, and I'm going to preface the first announcement with it. Vilkas, would you please rise?" He did as asked, leaving his tankard on the floor, but there was no joy in the man anymore. And that's when I knew I was doing the right thing in what was to follow.

"In the event that the Harbinger has other duties which keep him or her away from Jorrvaskr for extended periods of time," I quoted from the books I'd been scouring, "it may become necessary to appoint a Harbinger-Regent to run the day-to-day of Jorrvaskr. Shield-Brother, I ask you—do you feel ready to accept this task?"

You could've heard a pin drop, the room was so quiet.

"Aye," he finally ground out, "for the good of the Companions, I do."

I smiled, but there was no joy in it. "Then from this moment on, consider yourself Master-of-Arms."

Vilkas nodded mechanically, perfunctorily. "I will not let you down, Harbinger."

"See that you don't." I drew in another breath as Vilkas lowered himself back to his seat. "And the other announcement—which I'm sure you all can guess now—is that I'm leaving."

"What?" Ria asked, clearly shocked. (She wasn't alone.) "Leaving? Why?"

I smirked ruefully. "I need to sort myself out, Ria. You all know this as well as I do. So I was thinking I'd enroll in the College of Winterhold for a…" I stopped at the appalled looks I was getting. "Oh for Azura's sake, everyone! It isn't like I said I'm running off to join the Thieves Guild!"

"The _Mages' College?" _Vilkas asked, doing his best not to sneer (and failing dismally).

And that's when I knew we never would've lasted anyway. "Aye," I growled back. "You forget, I'm an Elf. We're magicians, scholars—things you Nords have no _use_ for. So I figure—what better way to figure out what I actually am?"

Athis nodded. "Sound enough. Better than twiddling your thumbs here."

"So when do you leave?" Farkas asked quietly. Of everyone here, I think I'd miss him the most. With his sweet nature and backhanded wisdom, Farkas was like the brother I wished I'd had.

"On the morrow," I lied. "I've got it all arranged."

Aela opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, then opened it again, then shut it. "Out with it, Aela," I said with something akin to a real smile.

"Are you sure there's no way we could change your mind, Morwyn?" she asked, and then I knew the reason for her hesitation. The Old Morwyn could have been persuaded to stay—this new one would only laugh at the attempts.

"No, my friend," I said with a bleak little laugh, "I don't think so."

And that night, when the rest of the world was asleep, I was dressing in ebony armor and carrying the boots in my hand to lessen the noise I would make as I left. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving as easily as I made it sound, and I think that, if I'd tried to leave with everyone there, I never would've gotten out the door. And so I snuck out like a thief in the night. I've never been terribly stealthy, but I have a will of iron. Besides, it was only as long as it took to get from the door to the stairwell.

I padded softly up the stairs and into the main hall, and who should be sitting before the fire but the bigger Twin. I froze like startled deer, and was just debating whether to walk back downstairs when I heard him, "I know you're there, Harbinger."

I padded out into the light sheepishly. "Your brother is Harbinger, now."

His gaze flicked to me, and took note of my armor. "You're leaving without saying goodbye?"

I sighed. "It's better this way, Farkas. I'm only causing you pain. And if you were all here with me now…I don't think I'd ever leave."

I don't know what I expected from him, but it wasn't this: "Then go." I must've been visibly shocked, because he added, "Go, if it will make your heart whole again. I won't stop you."

I squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you."

Farkas hoisted himself up to his feet, scrutinizing me all the while. When he reached his full height, his smiled was crooked, and sad. "Go with the gods, Morwyn." He had his hands on my shoulders. "And Azura's wisdom to you." He dropped his hands. "Maybe it'll help you more than we can."

I found myself blinking away tears. "And may Talos guide and keep you, Shield-Brother."

He enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug for a moment, then, once I was back on my feet, added, "You always have a home here in Jorrvaskr—you know that, right?" I could only nod. "Good. Now really—go, before someone hears you."

And I set off into the blackest of nights—the kind with no moon or stars at all—and into my future.


End file.
